"My secret! I do not know what you mean. I have no secret!"
The black feathers fluttered backwards and forwards once more. She regarded me still with the same quiet smile.
"You love my niece, Mr. Greatson," she said.
"Madame," I answered, "you are jesting!"
"Indeed I am not," she declared. "I have made a statement which is perfectly true."
"I deny it!" I exclaimed hoarsely.
"You can deny it as much as you like, if you think it worth while to perjure yourself," she replied coolly. "The truth remains. I have had a good deal of experience in such matters. You love Isobel, and I am not at all sure that Isobel does not love you."
"Madame," I protested, "such statements are absurd. I am no longer a young man. I am thirty-four years old. I have no longer any thought of marriage. Isobel is no more than a child. I was nearly her present age when she was born. The whole idea, as I trust you will see, is ridiculous."
The Archduchess regarded me still with unchanged face.
"Your protestations, Mr. Greatson," she said, "amuse, but utterly fail to convince me."